Glad I Was Your Last
by MercedesBlakeney
Summary: Hermione's thoughts and viewpoint as her husband lays dying. Lumione one-shot.


**This my first story with this pairing, so I hope I did them justice.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. All I have are the books and I didn't even buy them with my own money :) Nor am I being paid (but that would be sweet!)**

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His breathing is quite shallow now; short, quick, and raspy. The healers say it'll be any time now, but it hasn't really sunk in yet. How could this be happening to me? What did I, Hermione, do to deserve this? I lay next to him on our double king sized bed, resting my head ever so slightly on his chest. I close my eyes and try to capture the moment in my memory forever, because I know time is short.

My husband lays dying and I must helplessly watch. I hate being so useless. He was once one of the most powerful and feared wizards in the whole wizarding world. Now he can't even sit up.

His name is Lucius Malfoy.

It seems like just yesterday we were meeting secretly in empty bars and small cafes at odd hours to avoid detection. It was necessary; the war was still going on and we were supposed to be mortal enemies, he was married, I was muggle-born and he was much older than me. He and Narcissa had never been in love, and outside of Harry and the Weasley boys, whom I considered brothers, I didn't have any guy friends. Lucius and I were perfect for each other. When the war ended, we were finally able to meet on a more regular basis. His wife died soon after, and although he had not been _in_ love with her, he had still loved her. She was his wife for many years and the mother of his child. He needed time to mourn so I gave him some space. Imagine my surprise when he asked for my hand in marriage only 3 months after his first wife's death. We had a small wedding with a few guests. We wrote our own vows at his insistence because he wanted this wedding to be different than his first. He professed his love for me. Love that would last forever, love that would hold through the highs and lows of life, love that would sustain and enrich our lives, love that would surpass even death. I believed him then. Now, as I feel his body struggles to survive, I wonder, no, I pray, that he was right. Everything was perfect and neither of us could have envisioned what would happen soon after.

Some remaining followers of Voldemort were still around and were not very happy with him. They knew he had betrayed the Dark Lord and thought he was the one who had planned Voldemort's downfall. One of the radicals attacked him while he was in his office, repeatedly performing Unforgivables and torturing him mercilessly. He was left to die, bleeding and unconscious. When he was found, he had lost a lot of blood and his body was mangled and bruised. Even the best healers at St. Mungo's could do nothing to help him, so he was moved home to spend his final days.

So here I am, laying next to him and reminiscing of a better time. I haven't once left his side because I know he would never leave mine. I don't know how it happened, how a high-powered pureblood wizard fell in love with a muggle-born bookworm like me, but it did and I wouldn't trade it for anything. The world told us it was impossible. I was much younger than him, he was a pureblood, he was married, but the world was wrong. I didn't mind that he was older, he didn't mind that I was a "mud blood", and neither of us minded that he was married.

I kiss him softly on the cheek, thinking he's still asleep. The stubble from a couple days of not shaving tickle my face.

He goes into a fit of coughing and some bright red spots appear on the handkerchief I press to his mouth. He's struggling to breathe, and I know it's causing him great effort. Hurts like Hades, too. The only reason he's still alive is me. He just wants to make sure I'm ready. I know that he is, but I've just been too selfish to say goodbye. I don't even know if I _can_ say goodbye. As he coughs again, he winces in pain. He doesn't know how much longer he can hang on. He's waiting for me to be ready, but the truth is that I'll never be ready. But if I really loved him , I would want what's best for him.

I sigh and make my decision before I change my mind: It's time for me to let him go.

"I love you," I softly whisper. A single tear rolls down my cheek and hits his toned, but bruised chest.

"I love you, too," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm glad I was your first love."

"I'm glad I was your last."

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**Please review! I'd love to know what you think! :)**


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